
Class F>JJ^_^ 



Book A345sVy6 



COPyRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Violin 




THE WOOING OF A 
VIOLIN 



A Drama m Four Acts 



BY 



ALBERT S. HUMPHREY 



LIBRARY Of G0N'3KLSS 
Twu Copies (StiCtiiveo 

DEC 23 iyU4 

COPY B. 



not 



Copyright 1904 

BY 

ALBERT S. HUMPHREY 

GALESBURG, ILL. 






This pkg is tlerltmt:etl tn tbn2:e ixtlrn 
ftnil in th« timma: iht mtstinQ-pluu nf 
all tlT:e arts; xnUtxt gatfer in an :et[naT 
rnmpang ^nsir, Tainting, ^rtinn, and 
th^ snnT-franglTt Spnkm IViaxi, I5nt 
mnv2 i^ViUmlJv, it is tl^rlirati^d tn gnn 
tu:lTas:e inmnst feart tribrat^s in a n£M:er 
Bntling rgthm nf mnsir, pn^tizing drnri- 
g^rg intn ;rsaTms, and" harmnnizing tUt 
things mhich tang nf ;eartlT mith thns^ 
mhirh hzl nf totr^n. 



it might bit nf inttxz^t : 



A musical friend of mine once lamented that there 
were so few stories and the like written upon musical 
themes. For some reason, the thought persisted in 
remaining with me ; and, as I conned it over, there be- 
gan to form around and through it a little plot in 
which one with a genius for music told of his ex- 
periences when under the spell of composition. I 
wrote it off; and as I wrote, the sketch grew until it 
became the play as you see it here. For the charming 
little melody, which Paolo is supposed to have com- 
posed, I am indebted to Mr. William F. Bentley, Di- 
rector of Knox Conservatory of Music. Without this 
kind assistance my efforts had been incomplete. 

As you read, and, of necessity, criticize the many 
literary imperfections, I beg that you withhold too 
great displeasure. For its excellences, if there be any, 
I have taken this means of having you share them, be- 
lieving that you will get some moiety of joy from 
what was so considerable a joy to me. 

A song is a dream-land mist congealed into crystal 
drops to slake the thirst of souls. Touch this ArieFs 
cup to your lips, consecrating it with your breath, and 
let us drink to the art of Music. 

I hope that you will like the dramatic form; thus. 



we may get the essence, with no padding of words, 
and leave large opportunity to pleasure your own con- 
structive fancy. A drama is actual life transposed into 
fiction, draped about with all the arts of expression, 
and set within the studio of character. 

Will you step within my poor study chamber and 
let us read together The Wooing of a Violin. 

Albert S. Humphrey. 




THE WOOING 



CAST OF CHARACTERS 



Paolo Adremollo 
Mr. Glendon 
Mr. Hyde 
Mr. Chase 
Marioni . 
Clem . . 
Pierre . 
Mike Delaney 
Myriam Glendon 
Nizetta 

Grace 

Bess 

Mrs. Marioni 
Mrs. Lane . 



. a street musician. 

. a wealthy manufacturer. 

. a promoter. 

. a friend of Mr. Glendon's. 

. an Italian padrone. 

. a negro servant of Mr. Glendon's. 

. an abducted boy under the padrone. 

. a labor leader. 

. daughter of Mr. Glendon. 

. daughter of padrone. 

. friends of the Glendon's. 

. wife of padrone. 

. a matron in Mr. Glendon's home. 



A thug, workmen and others. 



OF A VIOLIN 



Place: New York City. Time: present. 
ACT I 

Scene — (A basement in a squalid quarter of the EAST 
SIDE ITALIAN DISTRICT. Doors Right and Left; one 
leading to the street, the other to an inner sleeping room. An 
old cook stove stands back, over which the padrone's wife is 
at work with utensils getting the mid-day meal. An old kitch- 
en table and two chairs stand Center. Disguises for beggars, 
crutches, and things of like nature, lie about the Uoor and 
hang upon the walls. MARIONI is at work, seated on the 
Uoor, Left; he is stuffing a coat so as to give the wearer the 
appearance of a hunch-back. PIERRE is lying, Right. A 
rawhide whip hangs upon the wall, Left. An old cupboard 
zvith dishes is Left of the stove in a corner.) 

Marioni. Come here, Felice. Felice ! You don'ta forgetta 
your name so quicka, do you? 

Pierre, Felice is not my name — I hate Felice. 

Mar. I calla you whata I please, and when I calla you, 
come quicka, or I show you. [He reaches for the whip.] 

Pierre. I will — no^ no — I will! 

Mar. Puta on this. 

Pierre. Oh, please don't make me play that hateful 
thing. I can't bear it. 

Mar. Can'ta bear! You cana bear to go without your 
dinner, I guess ? You cana bear the nice softa whip on 
your back ? I guess you cana bear this nicea coata, too, 

7 



THE WOOING 

Pierre. Oh, when may I go home — you promised me 
last week. [As he puts on the coat] 

Mar. Never! I wasa fooHng. You cana live here and 
have Nizetta for a sister; you laka that? Hump? 

(PIERRE'S face shows an agony too great for tears.) 

Mar. Oh, now you looka fine! Gooda Felice! That's 
how I have maka you try long time. Looka like thata 
and you bringa in much moneys — much moneys ; and 
I taka offa da hump ; and we have fine time, and 
mucha to eata — eh. old woman — mucha to eata, ha, 
ha! 

Wife. Mucha to eata ! Why, you scara da boy so ? 

Mar. Oh, shutta da moutha! 

Wife. If you putta so much time in your business as in 
abuse of these children, we would have plenta to eata 
and be American. 

Mar. You talka da fool. This is my business. You tenda 
da pot ; I tenda da business. 

(A knock at the door is heard; MARIONI starts appre- 
hensively.) 

Pierre. Somebody knocked. 

Mar. You heara it? [To the wife.] 

Wife. Three times already; its Nizetta. 

Mar. Open door! 

(PIERRE unbolts the door and NIZETTA enters with a 
tambourine in hand, and a red handkerchief of small coins. 
She is fantastically dressed. PAOLO follows her in, his 
violin under his arm. He goes back to the table, and sits 
quietly — he seems to be in deep thought.) 

8 



OF A VIOLIN 

NiZETTA. You were a long time letting us in. Did you 
think we were some more of those coppers? Ha, ha. 
How the coppers did scare us though ! 

(Her manner is vivacious and full of good humor.) 

Pierre. Bring any money? 

Niz. Lots, little brother. 

Mar. ''Coppers/' bah! 

Wife. Don'ta make sucha clatter. 

Niz. ''Coppers, bah !" You were scared out of your wits, 
and if it hadn't been for Paolo over there, you 
would have been sent up for ten years, old sour 
tomalley. 

Mar. You talka too mucha. [He strikes Nizetta.] 

Niz. Don't you do that again ! I got bruises enough 
now, besides, Paolo and me brought you, and mom- 
mer, and Pierre — come here, Pierre — a different 
kind of coppers. See! [She pours the money on the 
floor.] Some brown ones, some white ones; no 
yellow ones, though — don't you wish I had brought 
some big yellow ones? Ten dollars in one piece — 
you going to do that sometime, Pierre. 

Mar. You maka her calla da boy Felice [Aside, and to 
wife.] 

(PIERRE shakes his head in reply to NIZETTA.) 

Mar. Whata you say? I learna you some more I guess, 
eh? 

Niz. I thought we'd get a yellow one from the lady who 
came by in the fine carriage, didn't you, Paolo? 

9 



THE WOOING 

Mar. Gooda work! Vera gooda work — you improof — 
we be rich and leef in beeg houses sometimes. 

Wife. You love mona too mucha to ever geta outa this 
hole. 

Niz. I think he does; he — 

Mar. Right! You are vera right! Mona is better than 
houses an' I taka da mon. [He starts to seize the 
coin.] 

Niz. No you don't, it's mine! [She playfully covers the 
money with her hands.] 

Mar. Diavolo! Na, na! Get away! 

Niz. It's Paolo's. 

(MARIONI steps on NIZETTA'S hand as he seises her 
shoulder and rudely throws her over; NIZETTA screams; 
PAOLO half rises as if to interfere; NIZETTA zvrenches 
her hand from under MARIONI'S foot, and, going hack, sits 
on the floor beside PAOLO, who has again taken his seat.) 

Mar. Pretty gooda pull for one time, eh, old woman? 

Wife. Plenta for one time — letta go resta now. 

Mar. Resta? Whata, sleep? No maka da mon asleep. 

(He takes a belt from under his shirt and iills it with the 
money.) 

Wife. Umph! [She goes to the table.] Well cana they 
have a little bita bone to eata, and one piece macka- 
ron? Come, seeta here. 

(They all sit at the table and begin their dinner.) 

Mar. Whata you say abouta piece of gold? 

Niz. No. It was a lady who stopped to hear Paolo play. 
She must be awful rich — had a fine carriage. I 

10 



OF A VIOLIN 

smiled m}^ best but she dropped only two dimes in 
my tambourine. Oh, she was beautiful — wasn't she 
beautiful, Paolo? 

Paolo. She was very beautiful. 

Pierre. What did she look like? 

Niz. Like me, a princess ! And when Paolo saw her 
looking- at him like this [She gives an humorous love 
lorne expression,] he clear forgot to play, ha, ha, ha, 
ha; and then, in a minute, she drove away. 

Mar. Why you stoppa da play? 

Paolo. I don't know why — I didn't know that I did. 

Niz. Oh, ha, ha, ha, didn't know you did! [A pause.] 
What you thinking of, Paolo? 

Paolo. Why, you were speaking about the lady who 
stopped to listen to my violin. 

Niz. And you have been an old oyster ever since. Are 
you in love with her so quick? 

(He smiles and lays a hand on hers, which is resting on 
the table's edge.) 

Paolo. Oh, no, no! 

Niz. You lie — you lie to me! Your lips lie, but your 
eyes tell true! 

Mar. Crazy cat! 

Wife. Be quiet! [Pierre runs away to a far corner of 
the room.] 

Niz. I hate you ! I hate you ! I could scratch your eyes 
out! 

11 



THE WOOING 

(She springs at PAOLO, who seizes her by the wrists; 
they rise, and, doing so, upset the table — the dishes crashing 
to the Hoot.) 

Mar. She devils! [Striking her viciously.] 

Paolo. Never do that again! 

Mar. Whata you say? You needa little, too? 

Paolo. Yes, I wish you'd try. You have struck her for 
the last time in your life. 

Mar. You getta too beeg; I have to cutta you down. 
[He draws a knife.] 

Niz. No! [She springs between Marioni and Paolo.] 

Wife. You be a beeg fool; putta up da knife. 

(She seizes MARIONI by the arm, and, leading him away, 
gives him a bowl, and they cross. Left, where they sit on the 
T^oor and continue their meal, MARIONI venting his anger 
the while in surly guttural.) 

Niz. I stole that twenty cents. We'll go out and get a 
better dinner. 

Paolo. No, not now, this is enough for now. Save it. 

(Each picks tip a dish, and they sit, Right. PIERRE goes 
to them.) 

Niz. I am very sorry I hurt you. 

Paolo. I scarcely feel it, little one. 

Niz. But you must not love anyone but me — I think I'd 
kill you if you did. 

Paolo. Why, you are a little savage, Nizetta. 

Niz. No, but I've heard the stories of my people ; and I am 
like them — like them for all of your trying to show 

12 



OF A VIOLIN 

me better. I would think there was no way to be 
better, only that you want me so. 

Paolo. You say you would kill me if I loved another? 

Niz. I'm sure of it. 

Paolo. Then why did you, just now, save me from your 
father's stilletto? 

Niz. Oh, he wanted to stab because of hate. To kill 
because one loves is different from killing because 
of hate. I could die by your hand almost gladly. 

Paolo. Do not say it ; it cuts me through and through. 
When shall I ever understand you, you strange, 
strange girl? 

Niz. Never. Sometimes I'm like a tiger, in a cage of 
iron, barred from liberty. Sometimes I'm like a 
little kitten. I'm the kitten now — and I guess that's 
mostly me. You do love me — don't you — a little? 

Paolo. I love you a great deal. If I didn't, I would not 
stay here in this wretched den a day longer. 

Niz. But if you left here, where would you go? 

Paolo. I don't know ; anywhere, rather than here. 

Niz. But my father would follow you and kill you. 

Paolo. It wouldn't matter. 

Niz. Oh, yes, it would, an awful lot! [At this point a 
little earth falls from a crack in the ceiling.] That 
old roof is going to cave in some time — see the dirt 
fall again? 

Paolo. Yes, it is dangerous, and let us find out safer 
quarters. Little sister, once more let me beg you to 

13 



THE WOOING 

go to the abbess Millicent. She wants you; I have 
told her of you so often. You will be safe from 
harm, and in a pleasant home where you may have 
all that's beautiful in the world; and be among peo- 
ple who would help you to grow into a lovely — lovely 
woman. 

Niz. I'm lovely now — [coyly] ain't I? [pause.] Ain't I? 
[With emphasis] Ain't I? [Shriek.] 

Paolo. [Quickly] Yes, yes — sometimes. 

Mar. Shutta da moutha! [He shakes his wife, who has 
fallen asleep.] Gar-r-r-r-r — sleep, sleep, nighta and 
day — I guess not! [Nizetta feigns sleep with her 
head on Paolo's knee. Pierre is nearby.] Here, you 
outa this ! [To Nizetta] Taka Felice down on a 
gooda place, and stay by close ; if he don'ta getta da 
mon, you know! [Nizetta lingers, talking to Paolo 
playfully.] 

Mar. Gar-r-r-r-h ! 

Niz. Gar-r-r-r-h yourself! Good-bye, Paolo, — good- 
bye. 

(Her eyes linger upon PAOLO as she pushes PIERRE 
through the door-way, and BOTH EXIT.) 

Mar. You learna her name? 

Paolo. Whose name? 

Mar. Woman's who stopa to heara you make music. 

Paolo. I heard one in the crowd speak her name. 

Mar. Well? 

(EXIT WIFE, with dishes, Left.) 

Paolo. It was Glendon, I think; yes, Glendon. 

14 



OF A VIOLIN 

Mar. You follow eet up? 

Paolo. No, I shall let it pass to be forgotten. 

Mar. Stupido! You gotta no sense! 

Paolo. [Aside] Forgotten; that is but the refinement of 
selfishness to blot from memory what could bring 
nothing but sorrow if pursued. [He drops his head 
upon the table.] 

Mar. You finda her; it will pay, mebbie. Eh? [pause.] 
Asleep! Bah! 

(MARIONI goes to the old cupboard in the corner, gets a 
chisel from a shelf, and returns to the center of the room. 
He removes a stone from the floor and puts into an iron 
kettle, which was hidden there, the money from his belt. He 
then replaces the stone.) 

Wake up! Wake up! [Paolo raises his head.] Maka 
some new pieces to play da lady, mebbie ! 

Paolo. [Aside] Yes, that is it. He has spoken my un- 
formed wish. [To Marioni] You do have a happy 
thought in that cramped skull of yours, at times, and 
this is such a time. 

Mar. Hump ? 

Paolo. [Aside] But it is valuable only to him whose in- 
terpretation finds value in it. This pitiable carica- 
ture of a man, whose talents are all spent in evil 
ways, unwittingly says the thing which breeds a joy. 
[He takes up his violin.] Come, old fellow, respon- 
sive ever to me as you are, if you have a soul within 
the vibrant stuflF of which your form is made, let's 
talk together. We'll speak of her whose sudden 
presence swept through me like some cathedral or- 
gan's vast crescendo taking captive forever the pur- 

15 



THE WOOING 

poses of my brain. [He plays ad. lib. throughout 
this speech.] Purposes of my brain? What are 
they ? None knows ; not I, nor does she — yet, within, 
I feel a mystic force that must have scope or 'twill 
rend my very flesh asunder and let fly too soon its 
immortal tenant. 

I am a street fiddler, and, but for her, might so 
remain. But now I feel it given me to become — 
what? I cannot know — yet, oh, it seems my eyes 
could pierce the future by the very ecstacy of my 
hope and read the promise written there. Men have 
the gift of prophecy which is the bent and leaning 
of their souls — and mine — I may lack the sense to 
utter it, but it shall be worthv her. 



curtain] 



16 



OF A VIOLIN 



ACT II. 



Scene. — (Apartments of MR. GLENDON, richly fur- 
nished; a harp stands back. Right Center. MR. GLENDON 
is discovered reading and smoking, Left Center. MYRIAM 
appears a moment after the curtain goes up, in the great 
archzvay which connects with the hall zvhich runs full across 
at hack. She comes down softly, and embraces her father 
from behind his chair.) 

Myriam. Which would you rather have, your old paper 
or me? 

Glendox. My old paper isn't an outrageous tease. 

Myr. And shall I infer by that that I am? Well, I con- 
fess it. But, father, it keeps you from becoming a 
grumpy, crusty, old business grind, and so has its 
virtues, I think, don't you? 

Glen. [Dropping his paper and embracing Myriam ] 
True, true enough ; what should I do without you, 
goodness knows ; mine would be a lonely life indeed. 

Myr. What are you going to do to-night, papa? 

Glen. This evening? 

Myr. Umhum. 

Glen. Why, I have an appointment with Mr. Wetherell 
at the club. 

Myr. Would you have an appointment with Mr. Weth- 
erell at the club if I had an appointment with you at 
the same hour here? 

17 



THE WOOING 

Glen. Fm afraid I would, sweetheart. But it chances 

that I am not in that unfortunate predicament. 
Myr. Oh, yes, but you are! 

Glen. I have made no promise to you for this evening, 
Myriam. 

Myr. No, but you are going to. 

Glen. Ah, no, that were impossible. 

Myr. It is not impossible, for you are going to promise 
me — because — because — 

Glen. Well? 

Myr. Just because. [Both laugh.] 

Glen. Just because! What subtle metaphysics a woman 
can embody in that comprehensive dissyllable. 

Myr. Yes, for, while you clumsy-minded men are labor- 
ing with wheel and chain to draw two ideas together, 
a woman, in a flash of revelation, has the whole mat- 
ter in her grasp, and a conclusion reached, while the 
heart beats once. 

Glen. And the conclusion — the reason — is "J^st be- 
cause." 
Myr. Umhum, — and it's right, too; always right. 

Glen. Let us see, now. We'll take your figure of the 
wheel and chain — or, better still, suppose we make 
it a pair of balances: here is my engagement with 
Wetherell ; an important matter of business to be 
discussed. [He raises the hand with the cigar in it 
for one side of the balances.] Here is your psychic 
marvel "because." [He raises the other hand to repre- 
sent the other side.] 

18 



OF A VIOLIN 

Myr. And your old engagement is going up in smoke, 
[indicating the burning cigar] and this is the weight 
of a "because." [She lays her head in his free 
hand.] 

Glen. [Taking Myriam in his arms] You are my little 
philosopher. You have fathomed the depths of a 
woman's reason ; and it's right, and sweet, and just. 
But the harder logic of figures — which stand for dol- 
lars — which stand for hats,, and gowns, and travel, 
and art — which stand for about all you care for — 
which stands for about all I care for — 

Myr. Excepting just us two; each for the other. 

Glen. Yes, yes, you have named the goodly part of all 
there is in life for you and me — as yet — [Myriam 
looks at Glendon questioningly] this harder logic of 
figures must be yielded to for to-night, dear. 

Myr. Why did you throw in that, "as yet?" 

Glen. Just to provide a way of escape ; for I expected 
you to corner my argument with a "because." [Both 
laugh.] 

Myr. Well, of course you know best, but — but I did 
want you to be at home to-night, father. Can't you 
telephone Mr. Wetherell that you will see him in the 
morning? And let your old figures which stand for 
dollars — which stand for — oh, — for me! Why, you 
awful popper, give me your balances and I'll weigh 
your reasons before your very eyes. [She takes the 
cigar and imitates the action of a pair of balances.] 
Dollars — Myriam — dollars — Myriam — see, your dol- 
lars are turning to ashes. [Laughingly.] 

19 



THE WOOING 

Glen. [With emotion] May that have no significance ex- 
cept in terms of a jest. 

M.YR. But all fooling aside — now don't think me a little 
goose, papa, for it is awfully hard — Mr. Hyde is to 
call to-night, and he's — so — so — silly. 

Glen. My dear, you will have to learn to get along with 
such; the world — 

Myr. I know what you are going to say ; but I had rather 
never learn. I have been trying to be nice to him, 
and all that, and he has taken it as encouragement. 

Glen. Shaw, shaw, treat him cooler for a little while. 

Myr. I have, lately, but it doesn't do any good. It is 
embarrassing, father. I just can't entertain him ; his 
talk is of sports, his music is ragtime, his appetite — 
we don't keep that which satisfies it in the house — 
and his — 

Glen. He doesn't drink, Myriam ! [Myriam nods, insist- 
ing that he does.] Nonsense, girl! Why, he has one 
of the longest heads in business of any man on the 
board in the city. 

Myr. But he is not a gentleman — not a gentleman at 
heart, I mean. 

Glen. Don't do him an injustice, Myriam. Dislike is no 
excuse for abuse of a man. Besides, we receive him 
here in our home. 

Myr. All of which is very true. But I have a feeling we 
won't receive him here for long. [She rises, and 
crosses to the Right.] 

Glen. Don't let your young judgment betray you into 
false estimates. 

20 



OF A VIOLIN 

(ENTER CLEM, with card, which he gives to MYRI- 
AM.) 

Myr. Show him in, Clem. 

(EXIT CLEM.) 

Mr. Hyde is come. You will receive him; and re- 
main until I make myself presentable? Father, don't 
let this night be a bitter one for me. 

(EXIT, Right.) 

Glen. What a mixture of child and woman she is, bless 
her! And may the course of her life never alter that 
charm. 

(ENTER CLEM and MR. HYDE.) 

Ah, hello, Hyde; my daughter was just telling me 
you were expected. 
(EXIT, CLEM.) 
Hyde. Even so poor a man as I, the subject of your 
thought; that's encouraging. 

Glen. Ha, ha, very! 

Hyde. Didn't anticipate the pleasure of finding you in, 
this evening, Glendon. Met Wetherell at the club, 
just now ; he spoke of a date with you, I believe. 

Glen. Yes, I am going over presently. 

(ENTER MYRIAM, Right.) 

Myr. But I shall not allow it; father was taken quite ill, 
and must disappoint Mr. Wetherell, this evening. 

Glen. Girlie ! 

Myr. You are a little more than punctual, Mr. Hyde. 

[And advancing cordially, she shakes hands with 

him.] 

21 



THE WOOING 

Hyde. Am a bit early. Even as it is, I walked around the 
block to kill a little time for your sake. 

Myr. So considerate of you. [Laughs.] 

Hyde. I find it easy to walk in this direction for some 
reason or other. 

Glen. My daughter has just accused me of an opposite 
inclination ; and now that you are happily fixed for 
the evening, I shall indulge it, I think. I bid you 
good night — I am glad you dropped in, Mr. Hyde. 

Hyde. You are keeping your engagement, then? You 
are not ill? 

Glen. That w^as a bit of diplomacy that failed. [Laugh- 
ing.] 

Myr. [In the archway] Father, I hope I was just a fool- 
ish little girl, and that nothing will go up in smoke 
but your anxiety. 

Glen. You are mv very sensible little woman. [Kisses 
her.] 

(Laughter is heard off.) 
Myr. Oh, that must be Grace, and Bess, and Mr. Chase. 

(MYRIAM stands expectantly as GLEN DON EXITS.) 
(The following few speeches are given in vestibule, off.) 

Grace. Good evening, Mr. Glendon. 

Bess. How do you do, Mr. Glendon. 

Glen. Why, bless my soul, had I known you were com- 
ing— 

Grace. Oh, you can never tell a minute before what we 
may do the next. 

Chase. Very pertinent ; they bagged me on the street, just 
now and — 

22 



OF A VIOLIN 

Bess. That's the jolly privilege of a woman, you know ; 
it's about time some one was bagging him, I'm think- 
ing. [This is greeted with laughter.] 

Glen. Ha, ha, glad of it. Chase, glad you were captured. 
You'll find Myriam and Mr. Hyde waiting to receive 
you. Good night. By the way, Chase — just a mo- 
ment — 

Hyde. [At Right Center] Can't we have this evening to 
ourselves ? 

Myr. I see no possibility. ' 

Hyde. I thought I told you — [A meaning look from My- 
riam stops him.] 

Chase. That will be all right. Good night, Mr. Glendon. 

Grace. Good night. 

Bess. Au revoir. 

(ENTER GRACE, BESS and MR. CHASE.) 

Myr. I am so glad you are come. 

Chase. We knew you would be. 

Myr. Father was compelled to go out, but now, your 
coming will make the evening complete. 

Chase. Hello, old man. [To Hyde, as Chase goes down, 
Right Center.] 

Grace. You see I know where to come when I'm bored 
by my own company. 

Hyde. Exactly; but why not consider others? [Lugu- 
briously ; at which all laugh.] 

Bess. Oh, you are horrid! 

23 



THE WOOING 

Myr. [Looking about ] But we need another man. 

Chase. No, just a part of one; we have his hyde here. 

[And the laugh ensues.] 

Bess. Isn't that perfectly awful? [She sits, Left.] 

Grace. I would flay him alive for that. [She is seated 
with Bess.] 

Hyde. Anyone who will joke of a wart on another's nose, 
or of another man's name, for which the associates 
of an ancient ancestry were responsible, would pull 
the shoes off a dead carriage-horse for good luck. 

Chase. Your simile is more caustic than relevant. 

Grace. Had you best get him a cup of tea? It will warm 
him a little. 

Chase. By no means ; it would only aggravate the symp- 
toms. 

Grace. 



CE. ) 

5. f 



Bess, ^^^w? 

Chase. The tannin of the tea puckers the cuticle — that is 
to say, the hyde. [A laugh follows.] 

Grace. This improves. 

Bess. Isn't he the wittiest thing? 

Myr. But, Mr. Hyde, you said the associates of an an- 
cient ancestry were responsible for your name. 

Hyde. Oh, no, I didn't; I merely suggested the likelihood. 

Bess. Oh, rubbish ! That's beyond anyone but a crank on 
• family trees and things. 

Chase. Well said, you refer, of course, to the home of the 

24 



OF A VIOLIN 

ancient ancestry — the tree, in the forest primeval, 
where the ape first thought. [All but Bess enjoy the 
jest] 

Bess. What's that? 

Grace. Better and better — why, Mr. Chase, your very 
breath is weighted with interest biological, psycholog- 
ical, anthropological — oh, rescue me, rescue me ! 

Hyde. And foolillogical. [All laugh.] As I was saying 
before this anthropoidal chatter interrupted me — 

Grace. Which ? 

Bess. Who? 

Chase. Um ! 

Hyde. To answer your question, Miss Myriam — 

Myr. Thank you. But why are we standing? [They 
take seats.] 

Hyde. Going back in our family history to the first event 
of which we have authentic evidence, we find a chron- 
icle of battle. [Pause.] 

Bess. How thrilling! [All laugh.] 

Chase. This is profane history ? Yes ? Thanks ; it 
makes a difference. 

Bess. How? [To Grace.] 

Grace. Otherwise, it would have been Adam. [To Bess.] 

Hyde. My remotest of great-grandfathers was a mighty 
warrior, who rode a mighty steed, at the head of a 
mighty tribe. 

Myr. How delightfully romantic! 

25 



THE WOOING 
Grace. 



CE. I 



Bess. ' ^^^' 

Hyde. But one day, in battle, while leading a terrible 
charge, this centaur was crushing the enemy down, 
the horse hurled, breast on, against a fallen foeman's 
spear, and, crashing his great bulk to the ground, 
fell dead. 

The Ladies. Oh ! 

Chase. Hear, hear! 

Hyde. Then with sentiment, but with more discretion, 
this ancestral warrior took the skin of his great 
mount — 

Chase. Erstwhile mount — go on. 

Hyde. And out of the head and neck of it, he made a 
head-piece, and a cape ; and out of the remainder, a 
covering for his body, rendering him, as it were, im- 
pervious to weapons. 

Grace. ^'Impervious" is good. 

Hyde. And when the enemy saw my remotest ancestor 
confront them thus accoutered, they laughed, and in 
derision cried, ''Horse Hide, Horse Hide!" But they 
found him invulnerable to attack. And many there 
were who never told upon their hearthstones the story 
of such battles. 

Chase. Great! Great! 

Myr ) 

Grace 1 G^<^^' Good! [Laugh and clap hands.] 

Hyde. And with such success, for many moons, this un- 
equal warfare was kept up, that, often for lack of 

26 



OF A VIOLIN 

breath, the enemy would drop the first word of their 
jeering epithet, and, crying, '*hyde! hyde!" would 
scamper from the field. And thenceforth, bloodless 
victories have been the order of our people. 

(Laughter and applause greets the end of his tale.) 

Hyde. You note the economy in language of those an- 
terior men who could warn, advise and act upon the 
one word, hide — pardon my anticipation of your re- 
turn. [To Chase, who nods in mock dignity.] 

Bess. But I don't see the connection. 

Hyde. You don't? Why, ever since, our family has been 
known as Hyde ; and has perpetuated the habit of 
bloodless victories. 

(Chase yawns widely.) 

Grace. We'll excuse you. 

Chase For what? 

Bess. That yawn. 

Chase. It needs no excuse; the yawn at times is very 
expressive. [He crosses to the harp.] Myriam, come; 
play us that little dream song you played for me last 
time. I have thought of it often since. I liked it 
greatly. 

Grace. 
Bess. 

Hyde. Speaking of songs, have you heard the latest by 
Jack Riley? It's a rattler. I'll get it for you, Miss 
Myriam. 

Myr. No, I haven't heard it, Mr. Hyde; I don't wish to 
hear it; please do not get it for me. 

27 



, ' j- Oh, please do. 



THE WOOING 

Chase. [Sings] "And she poked him with her hat-pin in 
the gizzard." 

Myr. Why, Mr. Chase, I am astonished — You! 

Chase. That's a Hne of the latest. 

Hyde. Sure; ain't it a crackerjack, Chase? The boys are 
going wild over it. 

Myr. I never heard of the boys, as you call them, going 
wild over anything good. Music, I am pleased to 
think, is the highest of all the arts — the most spirit- 
uelle, ministering to the refinements and nobler as- 
pirations. But, most of all, it vibrates in the treasure 
nooks of the human heart where lie the joys and sor- 
rows, the hopes or fears, which we may not speak in 
words — but only in music find their fitting symbols. 
Do you know, I like to think that when the course of 
the world shall have been rounded into its destined 
poetic truth, the message of that great pure song 
will be human sympathy ; love as men but dream it 
now — though some may taste, perhaps, those who 
love harmonies — harmonies which live ever with them 
here — here within the breast: harmonies which can 
waft the soul out of the painful in our daily surround- 
ings ; waft it into the sky where only the angels dwell 
— the angels of our inmost heart's expression. 

I heard a little song, to-day, played by a street vio- 
linist. I have wondered since if he knew the depth of 
his own interpretation. [A pause.] 

Hyde. What was the piece? 

Myr. I don't know; I wish I did — if you could get that 
for me — perhaps I can recall it — [She turns to the 

28 



OF A VIOLIN 

harp, and at the moment, Paolo, outside, begins to 
play the piece. All Hsten intently.] That is it! 

Chase. How beautiful ! Exquisite ! 

Myr. It must be the same who played to-day. 

Grace. It's heavenly! — I'd like to see him. 

Hyde. Oh! This highfaluting gabble of art, that you 
people indulge yourselves in so frequently, is too 
many for my comprehension; and I am of the opin- 
ion that if you were really honest, you'd confess to 
the same condition in yourselves. 

Chase. Oh, you are all wrong, Hyde. 

Grace. You are rude. 

Hyde. I'll prove it if you dare ! 

Myr. It is not a matter of daring, it is a matter of breed- 
ing; for to be musical is to be well bred, 

Hyde. You take delight in taunting me, don't you? But 
time brings on her revenges : let me have mine now. 

Myr. What is it? 

Hyde. Let me call in that street Arab to prove my point. 

All. Yes, do. [As Myriam hesitates.] 

Grace. Oh, please do. 

MlYR. Willingly. 

(She speaks to CHASE, aside, and he EXITS. HYDE 
crosses to a window. Left.) 

29 



THE WOOING 

Hyde. [At window ] I say, there, you fellow ; you fellow 
with the fiddle, come to the door a moment — I say, 
you, with the fiddle! [He turns from the window.] 
Damned idiot. [Aside.] 

Myr. I have asked Mr. Chase to invite him in. 

Hyde. All right. Now this is what you'll find: a low 
Italian, from some squalid basement in the Ghetto, 
with intelligence just enough to carry a tune and 
steal. And yet he can discourse most delectably in 
this mystic poetry of the scales — to borrow your artis- 
tic twaddle. 

Bess. Say, but this is exciting. 

Grace. I am dying to see what he will be like. 

(ENTER, PAOLO and CHASE. PAOLO has his violin 
under his arm.) 

Chase. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Paolo Adremollo. 

Myr. I am glad you consented to bring your music 
nearer. 

Paolo. I hope it may please you, lady. 

Hyde. I flew wide on the looks. [Aside.] 

Myr. I am sure it will ; I have heard you before. 

Paolo. Yes, it was to-day, in Hamlin Square by the 
fountain. 

Grace. He's really fine looking, isn't he? [To Bess.] 

Bess. Oh, those dream eyes ! [To Grace.] 

30 



OF A VIOLIN 

Hyde. Come, now, fellow, give us your liveliest; we are 
fit for a jig. [He throws a dollar at Paolo's feet] 

Bess. Oh, a waltz ; please play a waltz, Mr. — what's his 
name? [Giggles.] 

Grace. Careful, Bess, dear. 

Bess. Can't you play us one of the Waldteufels ? I dote on 
them. 

Paolo. You will pardon me, sir; you are right, I play 
for money, and you are very generous, but to-night 
you will let me play for the joy I take in playing. 

Hyde. The devil! [Aside.] 

Chase. Guess again, Hyde. 

Paolo. [Turning from Hyde] Besides, I play jigs but 
seldom. [To Bess.] The Waldteufel waltzes, I have 
heard, I believe; I do not play them. 

Myr. Of what are you most fond? 

Paolo. Oh, Madam, I cannot say ; anything that was 
written because it must be written — of such, all of us 
are fond. 

Chase. You think that art is made up of messages then? 

Paolo. I do, indeed. The joy or heart-break, the aspira- 
tion or despair of men is thus written in perfect his- 
tories. 

Myr. And is there a special audience for them — for whom 
are these histories written? 

Paolo. I should say, for all to whom they appeal. 

31 



THE WOOING 

Chase. Some there may be, unable to read the story of 
the notes. [He digs Hyde.] 

Paolo. I am sure that only a few appreciate the finest 
music. That is forced upon me every day when I 
note those who listen to me, and those who pass by 
unheeding. 

Hyde. It strikes me that you have a large conceit of your 
own fiddling. 

Paolo. You will excuse the vanity peculiar to the mu- 
sician: but, sir, what I play is my own; they are my 
only treasures on earth; and it is, perhaps, natural 
that I should notice and be attracted to those who no- 
tice and are attracted to that which is a part of mv- 
self. 

Myr. How interestingly you speak. I have thought some- 
what as you have spoken; in fact — 

Paolo. You are a musician, lady? Will you not play for 
me? 

Myr. Gladly! But we shall play together. 

Paolo. Ah, I should like that. 

(MYRIAM turns to the harp, again, and begins to play 
PAOLO'S piece; he starts; presently takes up his violin, 
and they play together. After a fezv bars, GLENDON, 
passing through the halkvay, pauses a moment in the arch- 
way. He appears to be worried, and passes on. Presently 
MYRIAM makes an error in her accompaniment, and stops 
playing. PAOLO continues a brief space alone.) 

32 



■2 fi*. \ { ^'^^^^T";^, 




vJ- 'J Jitiillll-'' ^ 




THE WOOING 

Paolo. Do you not like playing with me; why did you 
stop? 

Myr. Your improvisation becomes too intricate for me to 
anticipate readily. 

Chase. Try again, it was beautiful. 

Grace. Could you write that for me? 

Paolo. If I could recall it — often I fail though I try a mo" 
ment after playing some such new air. Like spirits, 
they come and go without the bidding of one's will ; 
and, I think, that one is least conscious of the most 
beautiful of them. 

Myr. Go on, please. 

Paolo. I fear I shall offend. 

Grace. \ ^, 

Bess, f ^^^' "^' "°- 

Paolo. Not long since, I sat of an evening strumming 
my thumb on the strings, and thinking what God in 
his mercy might give with the future to me. I was 
lost so deep in the reverie that all else had faded 
from sense; I even knew not that I was playing, nor 
knew of the passage of time ; but a foot- fall beside me 
recalled me, as one wakes from a beautiful dream, 
and I realized that something divine had breathed on 
my soul in its passing. I looked up ; the abbess Mil- 
licent was standing beside me. She smiled, a calm 
lustre surcharging her wonderful eyes, as she said, 
'That was beautiful — beautiful, Paolo ; you will write 
that for me, and I shall word it for you, then the 
world may have it and understand." But I never 

34 



OF A VIOLIN 

could recall one measure. Try as I did so eagerly, 
almost prayerfully, time, and time, and again, noth- 
ing would come, but the tantalizing memory of a 
glory now gone forever. 

Myr. You were at the abbey? 

Paolo. Yes, the abbess is my teacher and friend. 

(ENTER, GLENDON.) 

Myr. Father, you are come so early! [With surprise.] 

Glen. I am a little earlier than I had expected to be — I 
hope I do not intrude. 

Myr. You are the most welcome of all where my true 
friends gather. 

Glen. Child, child, will you always make a spectacle of 
your doting old dad? 

Chase. He rather seems to like it, I should say. 

Glen. Who wouldn't? 

Chase, j We never could guess. [They laugh and clap 
Hyde. j each other on the shoulder.] 

Myr. Mr. Adremollo, this is my father, Mr. Glendon. 

Glen. Glad to meet you, sir. You are musical I see ; and 
so have had congenial company. 

Hyde. I have been the only string out of tune, Glendon. 

Glen. Well, well, Hyde, discord in concord, you know. 
[Aside to Hyde] I wish you would remain a few m.o- 
ments after the rest go, I've a matter I wish to con- 
sult you upon. 

35 



THE WOOING 



Hyde. Certainly. 



Grace. Oh, Mr. Adremollo, won't you play again — for 
Mr. Glendon? 

Bess. [To Paolo] Oh, please do. [To Glendon] You have 
missed a lot by going out. 

Chase. Possibly he saved a lot, too. 

Glen. A whole block. [All laugh.] 

Hyde. [Aside] I wonder now. [Suggestive of a shrewd 
doubt.] 

Myr. Yes, let us play for father; he is appreciative. 

Paolo. I hope you will pardon me. If it be not dis- 
courteous, I must take my leave. 

Glen. The wills of this house are one, Mr. Adremollo. 
My daughter's request — and her guests' — signifies my 
own — will you not play for us? 

Grace. Yes, yes. 

Bess. Oh, do. 

Paolo. You have been more kind to me than you know. 
I thank you, madam, for the favor I have enjoyed 
this night; but I am compelled to go. 

Myr. Perhaps there is favor upon the other side as well. 
[Which was but a frank profiler of appreciation.] 

Paolo. Possibly you would not deny me the privilege of 
coming again, sometime. [Myriam questions her 
father in a look which Paolo misconstrues.] I have 

36 



OF A VIOLIN 

obtruded; pray, forgive me. [But Mr. Glendon looks 
an affirmation in reply to Myriam's questioning 
glance.] 

Myr. Father and I shall be pleased to have you come. 

(GRACE and BESS comments upon this apart.) 
Hyde. Whew! [Aside.] 

(PAOLO hows himself from the company and EXITS.) 

Hyde. For heaven's sake, Mr. Glendon, squelch that; 
don't you see what the idiot's doing? 

Glen. Perfectly proper, Hyde. 

Hyde. Don't be blind, man. Why it's a cinch that the 
Dago is working Miss Myriam to a finish. 

Glen. What? Oh, ha, ha, I gave you credit for sober- 
headedness, Hyde. 

Hyde. [Quieting Glendon with a gesture] Look here 
a moment. [They talk together apart from the others.] 

Bess. Well, dear, it is high time we were going. 

Grace. I think so, too. 

Myr. Awfully good of you to come in; wasn't the vio- 
linist interesting? 

Bess. I'm no longer whole heart free — ah, those dream 
eyes — [She sighs and laughs, making light of her ad- 
miration.] 

Grace. Really a man of finest temperament, isn't he? 

Chase. Yes, he is, and manly! We shall hear more of 
him and his violin, or 1 lose my guess. 

37 



THE WOOING 

Grace. Well, good night. 

Bess. Good night, Myriam. 

(EXIT, GRACE, CHASE and BESS.) 

Myr. [In archway] Good night, all. You will come 
again soon. 

Chase. [From off] When the fiddler plays again and 
the harp strings are in tune. 

(Sings to refrain of "When the Robins Nest Again." 
Laughter dies away into the street; and MYRIAM comes 
down.) 

Hyde. Well, I hope you may be right, that's all [To 
Glendon.] 

Glen. [To Myriam] You will permit Mr. Hyde and my- 
self to have a few minutes, Myriam ; come back after 
a bit ; we shall want you, dear. 

Myr. Truly? 

Glen. Truly. 

Myr. All right — when you call. [And she goes off hap- 
pily humming to herself.] 

Glen. You know of the rumor on 'change to-day, relative 
to the big merger? 

Hyde. Yes, it's a go, I believe. 

Glen. I fear it is, for it is making me trouble. I have 
been an individual producer for years; in fact, since 
'68 ; and have built up a valuable property, sufficient 
for all the needs of a man who is sane in finance. I 

38 



OF A VIOLIN 

was born to be independent; I want my own; and 
have withstood the offers, bribes and threats of this 
combine, with the hope of keeping my plant as long 
as I may live. 

Hyde. I sympathize with you fully. You well may be 
proud of the industries in your name. 

Glen. But it has come to the point where I must have 
assistance, and that at once. The Maxwells are do- 
ing me up. Sales fell off fifty per cent last month, 
and, to-day, I learn that I'll have to meet their prices 
under actual cost of production. Hyde, it is just the 
same as murder — they are trying to murder iNIyriam, 
and me, and our people of the factories. It's begin- 
ning to get on my nerves a bit. [He shows nervous- 
ness.] 

Hyde. Oh, no ; all you'll have to do is to borrow to tide 
over the squeeze. 

Glen. That's the very difficulty. The rascals have tied 
up all the resources from which I have drawn, here- 
tofore, when in an emergency my business needed 
cash. Wetherell and I have canvassed the situation 
carefully, and we are convinced that we shall go to 
the wall to-morrow, unless some one can be found to 
extend the helping hand. 

Hyde. Is it possible? 

Glen. Hyde, as purely a business proposition, couldn't 
you find, say, twenty thousand for us to-morrow 
morning? [He exhibits quite perceptible anxiety.] 

Hyde. Twenty thousand, and the firm of Maxwell & 
Boynton against you? 

39 



THE WOOING 

Glen. Yes, but what of that? We're not going to fail! 
It would be too hideously immoral for them to do it. 

Hyde. I'm not so sure of the morality of these combines. 

Glen. But I have always had faith in humanity, and it 
never, never has proved false to me yet. What! Sac- 
rifice my darling girl and me, in my old age, to their 
lust of gain? Oh, no; no, sir! You would be per- 
fectly safe, perfectly safe; rely on my word, my 
friend; rely on my word, for my word, I take pride, 
is better than my bond. 

Hyde. That was true — yesterday. 

Glen. True yesterday? And for twice three hundred to- 
morrows! [He speaks with growing excitement.] 

Hyde. I sincerely wish it were so; but your bond is 
worthless on 'change to-day, and that makes your 
word but the thing of breath it is. 

Glen. Gods, what are you saying, man? 

Hyde. I am merely indulging in plain facts. 

Glen. Do you forget that you are in my house, sir? It 
will be my pleasure to bid you good-night. 

Hyde. Your nerves are at a little tension, to-night, Mr. 
Glendon. I shall not go yet, however, for I intend to 
assist you. 

Glen. Pardon me, Hyde, old fellow ; I'm not quite myself 
to-night. You are right ; I am worried — have been so 
long — I fear I am getting old, for I can't stand what 
I could once — I'm getting old — and I'm — 

40 



OF A VIOLIN 

Hyde. No ! no ! not a bit of it ; ha, ha, you are a Httle off 
color to-night, but to-morrow you'll be fit as a boy. 
However, it might be expedient to have a little reli- 
able backing in some young fellow who has resources 
and courage to use them. 

Glen. Yes, yes, that's it. That's why I came to you. I 
must have more than financial aid — I have proved 
that this night. 

Hyde. I can help you; and I will — with a proviso. 

Glen. Thank God, how you have relieved me. 

Hyde. Mr. Glendon, I have greatly admired your daugh- 
ter for a long time. And I mean to win her for my 
wife. 

Glen. I have no objections whatsoever. 

Hyde. But more than that, I must have your support. I 
don't appeal to that superfine fancy of hers. I can't 
rave over the gewgaws of art ; and I have a good bad 
habit of speaking my mind, as you have observed. 

Glen. A quality that I admire. 

Hyde. Now, Chase appeals to her because he is senti- 
mental; a sort of moonlight, guitar simpering fellow 
who couldn't make a stroke in stocks to save his life. 
And that damned Dago — gods! [Aside] I'll be re- 
venged for this night. 

Glen. No, no, you are wild there, Hyde. 

Hyde. Not on your life ! Now, with the girl bent this 
way, a practical man has no show. And I propose 
this : I'll see you through this crisis if you'll fix my 
standing with Miss Myriam. 

41 



THE WOOING 

Glen. No, Hyde, I can't do that. 

Hyde. You refuse me? [With an ugly look which is lost 
on Glendon.] 

Glen. No, not that; but I object to the form. I Hke you 
as a man, and am willing to do all in my power, hon- 
orably, to center Myriam's attentions upon you. 
Then, man to man, in purely a business way, you will 
let me have twenty thousand for, say, ninety days. 
That ought to be satisfactory. 

Hyde. It is. Meet me at the Merchants' Exchange to- 
morrow at noon. [They shake hands.] 

Glen. I will do so at the hour appointed. I shall ask my 
daughter to see you for a moment before you go. 

(EXIT, GLENDON.) 

Hyde. What a cinch the old fool is. If he knew, now, 
that I am promoter of the combine which is destroy- 
ing him ; and that my will alone can make or break 
him ; and mine the brains behind the deals engineered 
to make him tractable — a bloodless victory! Ha, ha; 
[Looking at his reflection in a glass] you shrewd 
devil, you! 

(ENTER, MYRIAM, Right.) 

Hyde. Oh, but I have been impatient for you, my charm- 
ing lady. Come, sit here; I have something to say 
sweetly attuned to thy maiden ear. By George! I'll 
become a poet for you yet. 

Myr. May I sit here, please? And you will not keep me 
long, I know, for father is waiting. [They remain 
standing.] 

42 



OF A VIOLIN 

Hyde. The same old cuts ! Are you never going to change 
toward me? 

Myr. Don't be disagreeable, Mr. Hyde. 

Hyde. Look here, I have something to say to you ; and 
I'm coming to the point. 

Myr. Thank you. 

Hyde. Your father is a bankrupt. His business goes into 
my hands to-morrow unless you brighten up a little 
towards me. 

Myr. Do you so lack the instincts of — oh, what shall I 
say? 

Hyde. Yes, if you will have it that way — I'll be treated 
like a dog by no woman ; not even by you, whom I 
love better than anyone else on earth. If you've been 
bluffing me, as I half suspect you have, I'll call you 
now — Myriam, I — I love you. 

Myr. Sir, I wish I could treat your avowal with respect. 

Hyde. You will treat it so before we are through; by 
heaven, I am of a mind — 

Myr. Will you leave me now? 

Hyde. No! not until I tell you this: — 

Myr. I will not hear it! [She starts to leave the room.] 

Hyde. You shall hear it. [He seizes her and crushes her 
to him.] Oh, you beautiful torment, don't you feel 
how I love you? You will, you must be my wife. 

Myr. Let me go instantly, or I shall call. 

Hyde. After this, and this, and this. [He kisses her re- 
peatedly.] 

43 



THE WOOING 

(They struggle across to a table where MYRIAM, reach- 
ing for support, strikes upon a hell. Thereupon HYDE re- 
leases her.) 

(ENTER, CLEM.) 

Myr. Mr. Hyde feels that he must go ; please show him 
to the door. [Hyde hesitates, a baffled expression on 
his face.] 

Clem. Your hat is in the vestibule, suh. [With counte- 
nance flushing in acknowledged defeat, Hyde follows 
Clem from the room.] 

(MYRIAM goes to the glass, smoothes her hair, arranges 
apparel. She pauses in doubt; makes up her mind, and EXITS 
hastily by the door, Right, through which her father went a 
few moments before.) 

(ENTER, CLEM. He shows that he is much troubled 
while he busies himself about the furniture; he goes. Left, be- 
fore MYRIAM and GLEN DON ENTER. During the quar- 
rel he quietly EXITS.) 

(ENTER GLENDON, followed by MYRIAM. GLEN- 
DON is very nervous and over-wrought.) 

Myr. The man shall never enter this house again. 

Glen. My child, my child, we are compelled to treat him 
with consideration. 

Myr. Compelled ! The person does not exist that can com- 
pel me against my will. 

Glen. Is this Myriam? 

Myr. It is Myriam! I tell you that I have suffered insult 
at the hands of this man, and you tell me to ignore 
it — not only that, but to place myself in position for a 
repetition of the wretched thing. I answer you, no! 
It is monstrous! I think you do not know what you 
are saying! 

44 



OF A VIOLIN 

Glen. To-morrow morning, Mr. Hyde will save the 
Glendon factories to you and to me. Thereafter, you 
shall treat him with becoming favors — and promise 
him your hand if he ask it! [With deliberate empha- 
sis.] 

Myr. Have you two subscribed to such a compact? 

Glen. Not until this moment — but now I do. If you can 
forget your old father in his great extremity, he will 
exact of you the uttermost of fihal obedience. 

Myr. And I repudiate it. If an aged parent, in an over- 
wrought moment, sells his daughter for such and 
such matter of sheds, housing squalor and abomina- 
tion ; so much of stocks, whose every face is a private 
lie; so much of elegance schemed from the world's 
supply at the expense of half requited labor — [Glen- 
don falls fainting.] Oh, what am I saying! Those 
wild words are untrue. [She cries hysterically.] 
Father, I was mad ; forgive me, forgive me ; I did not 
mean a word of it, not one syllable. You are kind to 
your men — kind to everybody — father! 

Clem, come quickly! 

(ENTER, CLEM.) 

Father has fainted, I think. 

(CLEM kneels beside his master, and lovingly assists 
MYRIAM in her attempts to restore consciousness to him 
who is sore stricken.) 



[curtain. 



45 



THE WOOING 



ACT III. 



Scene 1. (The intersection of two streets. The GLEN- 
DON home is seen well up and to the Left. There is an iron 
fence before the house and steps approach the entrance. At 
rise of curtain there enter from hack, NIZETTA and 
PIERRE. They draw slowly toward GLENDON'S resi- 
dence. NIZETTA shows strong dislike of the place and is 
gloomy. Presently she and PIERRE sit in shadow upon the 
steps. HYDE then ENTERS; as he approaches from back, 
PIERRE meets him with extended hand for alms. HYDE 
pushes PIERRE out of his way roughly; whereupon NI- 
ZETTA springs up, and, posing with a smile before HYDE, 
extends her tambourine. HYDE pauses; is pleased with NI- 
ZETTA, and tosses a piece of money into the tambourine.) 

Hyde. Egad! But you've no business begging, my pretty 
wench. 

(He withdraws into a deep shadow.) 
Niz. Thank you, sir. 
Hyde. Here, here's a mate for the coin I gave you. 

(NIZETTA extends her tambourine as before.) 

Hyde. No, no, come and get it. 

Niz. Don't you think it — you'll be a disappointed man. 

(HYDE, laughing coarsely, passes on. NIZETTA and 
PIERRE sit down on the steps again. ENTER a THUG, 
Right. HYDE and the THUG meet down Center.) 

Thug. Well, I'm here, sir. 

Hyde. You are punctual, all right — see that you do the 
job as satisfactorily. 

46 



OF A VIOLIN 

Thug. Trust me. 

Hyde. Not a trust! I pay you, see? And I expect to 
get what I pay for. 

Thug. Suit yourself; I'll deliver the goods all right. Just 
so you provide the dough. 

Hyde. It's ready when the job's done to my Hking. 

Thug. You say it's fifty? 

Hyde. If you do him up. 

Thug. The fifty's mine, all right. Where's the house? 

Hyde. The brown stone up there. It's about time for the 
Dago to be along ; he passes here every night at about 
this time. I'll go across the street, and, when the right 
one comes by, I'll give a low whistle — then get busy. 

Thug. I'm your lad. Good thing the light's not on. 

Hyde. Yes ; circuit must be out of order — luck seems with 
us. 

(ENTER PAOLO from hack, zvith violin.) 

Hyde. There he comes — that's the Dago I want. Now 
show me you're an artist. 

(HYDE crosses the street, Right. PAOLO pauses before 
the house and begins to play his little love song. The THUG 
moves slowly toward him. NIZETTA and PIERRE get up 
unseen and walk across and up the street. The shutters of a 
zvindow open in the house and light streaming through shows 
MYRIAM is there.) 

Niz. [In ugly spirit] Hello, my fine lady; open your 
window wider; here's your beggar lover playing for 



some soup ! 



47 



THE WOOING 

(PAOLO turns in hurt surprise. With wild laughter, NI- 
ZETTA starts to run up with PIERRE; glancing over her 
shoulder, she sees the THUG about to strike PAOLO with a 
sandbag — she screams. PAOLO steps quickly aside, but re- 
ceives a glancing blow which makes him stagger, and his 
violin falls to the ground. PAOLO and the THUG grapple 
fiercely. With his hand clutching the THUG'S throat, PAO- 
LO forces him backzvard upon the fence. NIZETTA leaves 
PIERRE up street. Right, and, coming down, tries to help 
PAOLO in the encounter. PAOLO prevents her doing so.) 

Paolo. No, no, not so savage. [To Nizetta.] 

(During this struggle, HYDE crosses the street and picks 
up the violin, which, in the contention, has been kicked into the 
gutter. With malicious gratification, he breaks the precious 
instrument over his knee and throws the pieces upon GLEN- 
DON'S porch. He then passes swiftly on, and EXITS at the 
rear.) 

Thug. [Gurgling] Enough — you've got me! 

(PAOLO raises the THUG from the fence, and throws 
him violently upon the pavement, where he lies a short space, 
making no effort to rise. PAOLO restrains NIZETTA who 
would rush upon the miscreant.) 

Paolo. Poor wretch, why did you attack me? 

Thug. I was hired to, mister. 

Paolo. Hired to? Who could have done that? 

Thug. Will you let me go if I tell you? 

Paolo. I should let you go in any case. 

Thug. [Getting up] Thank you, mister. [Backing slow- 
ly away.] Don't play under the window any more, 
young fellow. 

(Saying this, he turns and runs — NIZETTA following a 
few steps. PAOLO stands in deep thought.) 

48 



OF A VIOLIN 

Niz. [Coming back to Paolo] Are you hurt, Paolo? 

Paolo. I think not — no, I am not hurt at all. I wish you 
would go to the abbey for me and tell Mother Milli- 
cent that I shall not come for my lesson to-night. I 
shall be there as usual to-morrow. 

Niz. I will. Where are you going now? 
Paolo. Home. 

Niz. [Jealously] If you stay here, I won't go a step for 
you. 

Paolo. I am going now, Nizetta. 

Niz. I'll be there and home awful quick! Let's see who 
gets there first! 

Paolo. All right ; now for a race ; off with you. 

(EXIT NIZETTA, taking PIERRE, and running hack.) 

Paolo. "Don't play under the window." "Beggar lover 
playing for some soup" — Oh, God, does malice, mis- 
trust and envy exist concomitant with my love? Why, 
why, oh, love divine, are these dregs of rue in love's 
sweet wine? 

I have no right to seek her, yet I cannot stay 
away. Hands, for what were you made that you 
hang so idle here? Oh, I am impotent; impotent of 
every means — I, who have the greatest incentive to 
make for myself a place and name, thus to stand 
about while others nobly strive ! 

(NIZETTA steals in again, and, seeing PAOLO, secrets 
herself where she may watch proceedings. The street lights 
Hash on; and now there enter, from several directions, work- 
men from GLENDON'S factories, ivho gather in the street. 
Two workmen approach PAOLO from Left.) 

49 



THE WOOING 

First Workman. [To Paolo] Upa the streeta a little 

farther, comrade. 
Second Workman. [Passing Paolo] Well, come on, get 

into the push ! 

(PAOLO turns and observes the gathering. More zvork- 
men and a number of women come on. Two men approach 
from Right. PAOLO moves to meet them.) 

Paolo. What's the business here to-night? 

Third Workman. A meeting of an educational commit- 
tee — we give a lesson to tyrant capital, in a few min- 
utes. 

Fourth Workman. We're going to open old Glendon's 
ears with a rock — he's been too hard of hearing. 

First Workman. [Up street] To hella witha plutocracy! 

Second Workman. We'll send part of it there to-night. 

(A general laugh. NIZETTA and PIERRE join mob.) 

A Boy. We'll bust the old miser's head for 'im. 

A Woman. Come out from yer meat and wine and give 
us a crust of bread! 

(General approval, such as cries of "that's what," "good," 
"good," and the like.) 

A Voice. We'll have our wages and our rights! 

Third Workman. Quiet, men! Here comes Mike De- 
laney — now mind, we do what he says ; de ye under- 
stand ? 

(The mob opens, and MIKE DELANEY ENTERS, 
Right.) 

Mike. Shut yer yaps! Be civil till we ask him out; then, 
if he refuses us, we'll do our duty by our families. 

50 



OF A VIOLIN 

Out of the way, boys. [He mounts the steps.] Now 
quiet, I say. [He rings the door-bell.] 

Paolo. [Down front] Do I understand aright that Mr. 
Glendon owes these men wages? 

A Workman. That's what the fracas is about, boss. 

Another Workman. Pay day's past three weeks and we 
ain't got nothin' but promises; but we get somethin' 
else to-night. 

(CLEM opens the door. PAOLO turns from the mob, and 
raises his face in an attitude of supplication.) 

Mike. Tell your master a committee waits at his door to 
see him. 

Clem. [Apprehensively] Yes, suh, I tells Mars Glen- 
don what you say. 

(EXIT, CLEM, closing door.) 

Mike. [To mob] Pietro was shot by the guards last 
night, you know — he's dead. 

(The announcement causes great excitement.) 

Paolo. If thou art my guardian angel, lead thou me on. 
Yes, yes, I understand you — and follow — follow. 

(EXIT, PAOLO, Left, as in a trance.) 

Mike. [To a fellow] What? naw, we've got the poHce in 
Mulvaney's back room — two of 'em jagged already. 

(CLEM appears at the door.) 

Clem. Mars is very sick, suh, and cain't see nobody. 

A Voice. What's that? 

Mike. The word is that Glendon's sick and won't see us. 

51 



THE WOOING 

First Workman. The hella he won'ta. 

Second Workman. Then let's go in and see him. 

Third Workman. That's what! [Starts up steps.] 

Fourth Workman. In we go. [Starts up steps.] 

Another Workman. [On steps] We'll be a sick commit- 
tee and wait on him. [To the crowd.] 

Clem. I'm sorry, suh, but you cain't come in ; Mars — 

A Voice. Bring out the nigger; let's begin with the nig- 
ger. 

Another Voice. The nigger for a starter. 

, (Many press toward the steps. MIKE attempts to go in. 
CLEM slams the door on his foot, which prevents the door 
from shutting. Three on the porch force the door open, and 
drag CLEM dozvn. They throw him into crowd, where he is 
beaten and kicked.) 

A Voice. Let's take him to the square. 

Another Voice. Let's have a hangin' bee. 

First Workman. Senda him where Pietro ees. 

(A large part of crowd cheer this idea; a few cry, "No, 
no," and protest in action. The crozvd grows very excited.) 

Mike. Easy there, we're after bigger game, boys. 

A Workman. Let's scare the old coon white. 

First Workman. Let'sa burna da coon! Come on, Mike, 
let'sa burna da coon. 

Second Workman. You're a devil — ha, ha, let's do it! 

Third Workman. No, heavens, you're carrying it too far. 

A Voice. Let's burn 'im! 

52 



OF A VIOLIN 

(This is greeted with a yell of approval, mingled with 
cries of dissent.) 

(FIRST and SECOND WORKMEN exchange glances, 
and plunge into the mob; others start with one intent, and, 
seizing CLEM, they hurry him off with cries of "Get wood,'* 
"Bring boxes," "A can of oil," and others of like import. Gen- 
eral tumult follows, and the crowd jams Right exit. MIKE, 
protesting vigorously, tries to dissuade the men from their 
purpose. Three men draw down front.) 

(MYRIAM appears at the door; she pauses on the thresh- 
old.) 

First Man. This must be stopped at all hazards. 

Second Man. Why, the men are turned into beasts ! 

Myriam. Cowards! Hands off the old man! 

(The mob rapidly EXITS, Right. MYRIAM comes down 
the steps.) 

What are they going to do? 

First Man. I am afraid nothing good, lady. 

Myr. I fear it, they seem bent on evil. 

Third Man. They are giving the old darkey a little 
scare, lady; that's all. 

A Voice. [From off] We're going to burn the nigger! 

(A yell follows.) 

Myr. Oh, that cannot be! Come, come with me — if it 
should prove as you say, it is too cruel by far — and 
they may mean more, for their voices sound wicked. 
We must save the poor old man. 

First Man. There may be danger to you, lady. 

Second Man. ) ^,, ... ., ., . ., . , 

Third Man. ) ^^ ^^^^ ^^ ^^ ^^ possible, madam. 

53 



THE WOOING 

Myr. Possible? I will make it possible! 
(ALL EXIT, Right.) 

Scene 2. (A reproduction of the MARIONI basement on 
small stage hack of, and above, the set for Scene i.) 

(ENTER PAOLO. He strikes a match and lights a can- 
dle; carrying it, he pauses a moment at the door of sleeping 
room, Left, whispers, "Asleep;" then moves slowly to the 
center of the room. He sinks upon his knees, and, setting 
dozvn the candle, tries to insert his fingers betzveen the stones 
of the floor, but fails. Suddenly he leaps up, springs like a 
tiger to the cupboard, takes out the old chisel, as MARIONI 
did in the first act, and returns to Center. He attempts again 
to lift the stone. He tries three times. At last, it yields — he 
lifts it, and discovers the pot of gold! He raises the treasure, 
and, going across the room, takes a sack from a corner, and 
empties the money into it — whereupon he EXITS. In a few 
moments MARIONI enters from the sleeping room, and pres- 
ently discovers that he has been despoiled of all his hoard- 
ings. He falls upon his knees beside the empty hole, and, 
while lamenting his loss, the pavement above suddenly falls 
in, crushing him to death.) 

Scene 3. (Same as Scene i.) 

(ENTER, from Right, the mob; among the first is MYR- 
lAM, supporting CLEM who is almost crazed with fear. 
FIRST, SECOND and THIRD MEN prevent the mob from 
rushing upon MYRIAM and CLEM. The mob is hooting, 
jeering and bandying offensive epithets. MIKE hastily ad- 
vances and intercepts MYRIAM in the center of the street.) 

Mike. We came to see Mr. Glendon, and we are going to 
see him, Miss. 

Myr. You speak to me after this outrage? 

(A man pushes MIKE aside.) 

A Voice. Aw, don't take no bluff from the girl. 

54 



OF A VIOLIN 

(MYRIAM and CLEM reach the steps up which CLEM 
stumbles, and disappears into the house. MYRIAM mounts 
the iirst fezu steps, and, turning, faces the mob.) 

First \\'orkmax. It's up to Glendon to show his head 
right now. 

(Cries of "That's zvhat," "Right," greet the demand.) 

Second \\'orkmax. Look here, young woman, we don't 
want no trouble with you — that's the reason we give 
ye the nigger. Give 'er three minutes to perduce the 
old guy, Alike, and then, if they don't, by — 

Myr. Silence, you chattering fiends groping about there 
in the guise of men ! And, if you have any under- 
standing left, listen to me. 

Third Workman. Lord, but she's flingin' compliments! 

A Woman. The hussy! I'd cram that down her throat! 

A Voice. Shut up ! let's hear. 

A Boy. Her next! 

\'oiCE. Hush, hush, let her talk if she wants to. 

(General niozeinent of assent.) 

Myr. Of what kind are you that you can forget, in a 
moment of passion, the full years of Hiram Glen- 
don's providence? What spirit of villainy is in you 
that you can banish from memory the benefactions of 
a lifetime? Yet, you have no treachery but ignor- 
ance, no malice but greed, and your violence is but 
the distemper of ambition. Your minds are grown 
but to the stature of children, and, like children, when 
you are ugly, you should be beaten : and to win your 
smile, we shall give you a bit of striped candy! [A 



THE WOOING 

murmur of resentment runs through the crowd.] 
For shame ! For shame ! That you make occasion for 
such words as these, the righteousness of which you 
cannot with honesty deny. [A movement of dissent 
in the crowd.] Hear me, and if manhood has not 
deserted your breasts never to return, bow your 
heads in grief, and depart in peace. My father, who 
has befriended you in many ways of which you know, 
and many ways of which you know not anything, lies 
within this house (which to-day perhaps he does not 
own) ill to the point of death. It is the fact that 
he cannot pay you, that he has exhausted all his 
forces in trying to meet his obligations to you — this 
it is which has stricken him — yes, and my own in- 
gratitude — for I, too, have blundered, men, like you 
— cruelly blundered last night when I withstood the 
kind old man, and he fell prostrated by my ungener- 
ous words. 

(ENTER, PAOLO, Left Front.) 

Leave us now, you shall be paid in total though the 
factories be sold to satisfy your demands. 

A Voice. We need more than your word. 

Another Voice. A woman's promise to back an old 
man's failure! 

Myr. Did he ever deny you before? 

First Workman. Na, na! 

Second Workman. He never did that. 

Third Workman. You're right there, my lady. 

Paolo. [Springing up beside Myriam] Oh, then you re- 
cover from your plague of the beast! It is well that 

56 



OF A VIOLIN 

you recover in time. I am come to satisfy your de- 
mands, and, in the name of Mr. Glendon, you shall 
be paid in full, and that now. Go at once to the office 
of the company; there you will receive every dollar 
that is your due — and, then, if you can pray, go to 
your knees, and ask forgiveness for what you have 
thought to do this night. 

(A general stir in crowd, and questionings. PAOLO turns 
to MYRIAM.) 

Myr. They will kill you for such a promise as that! 

Paolo. No ; for I shall fulfill it ! Oh, wonderful ! I be- 
held a vision ; it was sent from on high ; I followed 
the sign, and into my hands was delivered this treas- 
ure! [Showing the sack of gold.] 

First Workman. It's a bluffa. 

Second Workman. We don't bite that bait; try another. 

Third Workman. It's a lie! Bring him down. 

Paolo. It is true ! Only give me leave to prove it. I shall 
come down. [He starts down the steps.] See, I am 
not afraid of you. Follow me — come with me. Is 
this a lie; or this? 

(He throws a handful of gold among them, and they 
scramble for the coin. PAOLO passes through the mob.) 

Now to the factories ! 

(EXIT, PAOLO, Right, the mob following.) 

First Workman. Let'sa follow heem. 

Second Workman. Come on. 

Third Workman. Hurry up, we'll get left in the shuffle. 

57 



THE WOOING 

(EXIT, the MOB. MYRIAM stands as though strick- 
en dumb for a time, then goes slowly down the steps and 
into the street.) 

Myr. Is he mad, or am I — has all this really been? 

A Voice. [Off] By heaven, we will kill him if he doesn't 
make good! 

Another Voice. And carry him on our shoulders if he 
does! [The mob cheers.] 

Myr. Be your voice prophetic, rude though it is! 

(MYRIAM starts for the house; pauses; picks up a peg of 
the violin.) 

The key of a violin — can it be — 

(She goes up the steps and finds the ruined violin where 
HYDE had thrown it.) 

Oh, it is broken! 

(She gathers up the scattered pieces, and, with one look 
after PAOLO, and a little convulsive sob, as her eyes fall 
again upon the fragments in her hands, she enters the house.) 



[curtain] 



58 



OF A VIOLIN 



ACT IV. 

(The GLENDON home as in Act II. PIERRE is dis- 
covered, Left, looking through a picture book. After the rise 
of the curtain, CLEM ENTERS with tray and dishes from 
the sick room, Right.) 

Clem. Two months ago, to-day, Mars and my lady had 
the only quarrel in their life ; and since then, neither 
ain't spoken ter the other, and Mars in his bed mos' 
the time hardly expected ter live ; but he's gettin' 
better fas' now, sure nough ; so fas' I feared he goin' 
ter git strong headed and do morn he oughter fo he 
kin. And there the Mistis ! Mistis is shorly high 
headed, and she tender hearted at the same time ; Lor, 
how she wait on old Mars ; never leavin' the room 
'ceptin' when I's thar ter tend ter 'im. I wonder whar 
this goin' end itsef? — I dunno — I dunno. [He sees 
Pierre.] Good evenin', little Mars Pierre. Is your 
health quite circumspec' this evenin'? 

Pierre. Yes, quite good, thank you, Clem. Has my 
papa come yet? 

Clem. No, honey, not till to-morrow mornin' ten o'clock. 

Pierre. Well, I guess I can stand it one more day; one 
can stand so much when one has to. 

Clem. If you ain't the beatenist! Um umh! 

(ENTER, MYRIAM.) 

Myr. Please take the tray to the kitchen, Clem; and re- 
turn to father at once; he is determined upon getting 

59 



THE WOOING 

up and dressing. Help him if you must ; prevent him 
if you can. 

Clem. Yes'm. 

(EXIT, CLEM. MYRIAM comes down, Center.) 

Myr. Well, sir ; and how does my little man get along by 
this time: quite at home, isn't he? 

Pierre. [Doubtfully] Yes, Fm trying to be. [He crosses 
to Myriam and takes her hand.] But it's pretty tough 
on a fellow to be away from his mamma and papa so 
long, don't you think? 

Myr. Yes, of course it is, dear. But you shall have them 
both to-morrow when they will take you to your real 
home ; and then you will be so happy again. And 
now, I think you had best be off to bed — don't you — 
so you may be up bright and early with the birds in 
the morning. [She rings for the matron.] 

Pierre. All right; I'm ready. May I take the book with 
me? 

Myr. Yes, dear. 

(ENTER, MRS. LANE.) 

Myr. You may take Pierre to his room, Mrs. Lane — and 
he will soon be in the land of dreams — forgetful of 
all his little troubles. 

Pierre. Good night, Miss Myriam. 

Myr. Good night, dear. [She kisses him.] 

(EXIT, PIERRE and THE MATRON.) 

(MYRIAM shows weariness. She goes back and takes 
from a table PAOLO S violin, which she has caused to be 
repaired. She looks at it long before speaking.) 

60 



OF A VIOLIN 

Myr. What a feeling old singer you are — and what a 
surprise for Paolo when he comes to-night. 

(ENTER GLENDON, Right, in dishabille.) 

Glen. [Pausing at door] Myriam! [Myriam lays the 
violin down and faces Glendon imperiously.] Why 
do you preserve this terrible silence toward your 
father ? 

Myr. I am waiting for my father to recall the last words 
he spoke to his daughter. 

Glen. But you were wrong, Myriam. [Frettingly.] 

Myr. I was right! 

Glen. There, there; you will unman me again — right or 
wrong, let us be kind! 

Myr. Oh, I am willing; so very, very wilHng! 

(She hastens to him, and assists him to a seat, Left Cen- 
ter.) 

Glen. Then it is not all lost — the once sweet relation — 
the tender sympathy expressed when last we sat, as 
we are sitting now, and played out our little figure 
of the balances? 

Myr. It need not be — it shall not be. 

Glen. That awful night when my men gathered, here, in 
the street, demanding their pay — you didn't think I 
knew, but I did ; I heard much of that distressful af- 
fair, and your heroic speech which came after they 
had so basely abused poor Clem — what was it that 
sent them away so suddenly? Was it you saved us 
from added indignity? 

61 



THE WOOING 

Myr. No. As I was speaking to the men, telling them of 
your illness, and pleading with them to desist from 
their folly, some one came hurriedly through the 
crowd, and, leaping beside me on the porch, prom- 
ised the men their wages; and then he led them 
toward the factories, the men following him eagerly. 
I understand that this "some one" paid the men what 
was their due. 

Glen. It was Hyde. Ah, yes ; my trust was well placed 
in him. 

Myr. No, it was not. 

Glen. An agent of his. 

Myr. Nor an agent. 

Glen. No other in all this city would do such a generous 
thing as that for us, Myriam. 

Myr. Yes, two others in this city would do such a thing 
for us, father ; Mr. Chase, if he could ; Paolo Adre- 
mollo, as he did ! 

Glen. What, that ragamuffin street fiddler? 

Myr. No, that noble young Italian, whose every feature 
betrays his patrician blood, whose every accent has 
the cadence of true culture; a gentleman of finest in- 
stincts and generous impulses. 

Glen. Myriam, what fine frenzy are you acting here? 

Myr. The frenzy of inadequate praise ; for every word I 
utter in description leaps but to half the stature of my 
meaning. And this you yourself shall see. 

Glen. Have you seen him since that night? 

62 



OF A VIOLIN 

Myr. Every day, he has been here to inquire after you — 
so soHcitous of your health. 

Glen. Of my health? Hum! 

Myr. Yes ; and he is coming again, very soon ; even now 
is his hour — and you will thank him for what he has 
done for us; and like him just as I do, papa, won't 
you — won't you — papa? 

Glen. Just as you do? [Quizzically. Myriam nods.] 
Well, bring your paragon in to me. I give over my 
judgment, my ripe experience, and every attempt to 
understand. This tale of yours has the best of Grimm 
or else my mind is tricked and all's the fancy of a 
fevered brain. 

(ENTER, CLEM.) 

Clem. Mistah Paolo AdremoUo. 
Myr. We will see him here, Clem. 

(EXIT, CLEM.) 

Glen. That was Clem's voice, and Myriam answered it. 
There's evidence of a flesh and blood beginning. 

(ENTER, PAOLO.) 

Myr. He comes! 

(She springs up, and greets PAOLO warmly.) 

Paolo. I am chosen for first violin in the symphony or- 
chestra. [To Myriam.] 

Myr. I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! 

Paolo. You knew it? 

Myr. Of course; didn't you deserve it? 

63 



THE WOOING 

Paolo. Well, I think I can handle the part. 

Myr. Of course ; you could direct the whole orchestra. 

Paolo. Hard work may earn promotion. Is that your 
father up? It is! [They cross to Glendon.] 

Myr. Father, this is Paolo Adremollo whom you have 
met before ; I am sure you remember him. 

Glen. Perfectly. I am glad to see you, sir. 

Paolo. It gives me great pleasure to see you so far re- 
covered. 

Glen. Thank you. I am feeling quite myself to-day. 

Paolo. You have had a long illness; but the doctor says 
your recovery may be complete. 

Glen. I trust it will be. But come — I am told you are a 
necromancer — or is it magic you practice? Was it 
you, Paolo, who outran the world and plucked the 
golden bag from the end of the rainbow? 

Paolo. Sir ? 

Glen. There, there, I'll put fooling aside. What is our 
status? In whose hands are the factories? Where is 
Wetherell? Why has he not been here? Send for 
him at once! 

(He speaks with the peevish impatience of weakness.) 

Myr. There, father, let your mind be at rest; Paolo can 
tell you all. 

Glen. What? You understand affairs? But first: who 
is Paolo Adremollo; and how does it come that he, 
a stranger to us heretofore, is associated with us in 
this remarkable manner? 

64 



OF A VIOLIN 

Paolo. That would necessitate the story of my life. 

Myr. With his every act strung as a bead on a rosary 
leading through these eventful days. 

Paolo. And in the stringing, we have made the cross and 
now pass on, leaving it a sacred symbol of the past. 

(GLENDON drops his face in his hands. MYRIAM 
attends.) 

Myr. Father, what is it? 

Glen. I am attentive to your story. [Recovering him- 
self.] Pardon me, won't you be seated? 

Paolo. I was born in the North of Italy of a family of 
some influence. When two years of age, I was ab- 
ducted by brigands ; and, after all attempts at my 
ransom had failed, I was spirited away to this coun- 
try, to be put under the hard tutelage of an Italian 
padrone. I grew up as his son. 

Glen. It is hard to understand your felicity of address. 

Paolo. Perhaps a birthright; but more, because, while 
still a child, my life was blessed by the notice of a 
nun from the abbey. Since then, I have stolen an 
hour each day to pursue a course of study marked 
out for me by the Mother Superior. 

Myr. Tell father why you stayed with the old padrone in 
the cellar so long when your tastes all revolted 
against it. 

(She sits on the arm of GLENDON'S chair.) 

Paolo. There was one whom I loved as a sister, a 
daughter to the old padrone. I stayed in the hope of 
inducing her, finally, to seek the care and protection 

65 



THE WOOING 

of them at the abbey. This she refused to do until, 
one night, by an accident, her wild birth nest was de- 
stroyed. She is now a novitiate under the direction 
and in the comfort of the women of that blessed sis- 
terhood. 

Myr. Now tell us of the pot of gold, and the paying of 
the men! 

Glen. This is the tale of the chief wonder worker. 
[Aside.] 

Paolo. It seems that the basement we lived in had been 
the rendezvous of a gang of robbers before the advent 
of the Marioni family. This band pooled its ill-got 
gains, and was thrifty in its way. A loose stone of 
the old rock floor covered an iron kettle in which was 
secreted the riches of the band; and the amount con- 
tained in this hiding place had grown to a large sum, 
when, on a fatal night, all but one of the robbers were 
shot down during an attempt on the vaults of a bank 
in New Hamburg. It is believed that Marioni was 
the one of that band who escaped. But his connection 
with the crime could never be traced. 

Myr. But everyone thinks he was one of them, though. 

Paolo. Yes; for, one week later, he was found in posses- 
sion of the quarters, living with an Italian woman 
whom he claimed for his wife. If he had been a 
robber before, he changed his methods at this time 
and became a cowardly padrone. 

Myr. And here, Paolo appears. 

Paolo. Yes, but the history of my training, the coming 

66 



Lot 



OF A VIOLIN 

of little Nizetta, and the stealing of Pierre, would 
not interest you. . 

Glen. But how did you learn all this? 

Paolo. Partly from the police records; partly from in- 
ference; partly as I shall relate. 

Myr. Now listen, father. 

Paolo. Once I dreamed of a treasure hid under a block 
of our floor, but, strange, I never undertook to veri- 
fy the vision of my sleep until the day of your urgent 
need. I chanced to be passing this way the time that 
your men attempted to mob you. I stood powerless, 
there in the street, to prevent it, or assist you. In the 
agony, because of my weakness, I cried out for some 
sign to be sent me ; and lo ! on the instant, there broke, 
as a great light upon me, the memory of my dream, 
in a vision made supernaturally vivid. I started and 
ran, impelled by an irresistible force, full speed for the 
cellar. I entered as though guided — I flew to the 
cupboard and took from a shelf an old chisel, and, in 
a moment more, was kneeling over a large stone in 
the middle of the pavement. I pried at the stone; it 
yielded! On the third attempt, I raised it. Oh, 
wonderful — there lay the minted, lusterful metal, 
enough and to spare to ward off the hideous cli- 
max of the mob's intended revenge. 

(PAOLO rises and paces the Uoor in the excitement of 
his narration.) 

Myr. Then he paid off the men, shut down the shops, and 
there all the great buildings stand, awaiting your 
command to imbue them again with life. 



THE WOOING 

Glen. Then the old world does swing on the hinges of 
love, doesn't it? And love shall receive its reward. 
But where have Hyde and Wetherell been all this 
time? Come, your story's not finished. 

(The door-bell rings. PAOLO and MYRIAM exchange 
glances. MYRIAM warns PAOLO not to tell her father of 
HYDE.) 

Paolo. We know but little about them ; only this, per- 
haps — 

(ENTER, CLEM.) 
Clem. The ladies and Mr. Chase to see Miss Glendon. 
(ENTER, GRACE, BESS and MR. CHASE.) 
(CLEM crosses and stands Left of GLENDON.) 

Gbiace. Oh, we have such news! [She passes on to 
Glendon.] Why, Mr. Glendon, so glad to see you 
around again. 

Bess. [To Myriam] Couldn't guess it in a thousand 
years. [Passes on to Glendon.] Oh, isn't it splendid 
to be out again? We've been so afraid you'd never 
be yourself again ; but you are going to be, aren't 
you? 

Glen. Well, I certainly hope so. 

Chase. [To Myriam] Have you seen the afternoon pa- 
pers? 

Myr. No. 

(She indicates the presence of her father, and cautions 
CHASE.) 

Chase. Oh, we have an antidote for him better than all 
the medical compounds. 

68 



OF A VIOLIN 

Myr. Xot if it's very exciting. 

(GRACE crosses to PAOLO, Right, Front.) 

Chase, [To Glendon] Congratulations on your conva- 
lescence. 

Glen. Thanks, Chase. 

Grace. The merger's smashed! [To Paolo.] 

Paolo. Is it true? 

Bess. To smithereens! 

Grace. The evening papers are full of it. [As Chase 

gives paper to Glendon.) No, no, read it aloud so all 
may hear. 

Glex. Yes. I can scarcely see to read it for myself. 

Bess. Oh, it's great! 

Chase. [Reading] *Tt ends in a crash! The great at- 
tempt to combine the clothing manufactories of the 
country fails for lack of fimds. Stock in [Maxwell & 
Boynton's merger goes to zero in a -vs-ild panic this 
morning. Hyde, the promoter, has left the aty. The 
firm refuses to talk." 

Glex. Hyde — ^promoter 1 

(He is almost overcome by the revelation.) 

Grace. That is of particular interest to you. ^Ir. Glendon. 

Glex. [Recovering himself and w-ith gratitude thrilling 
his being] "All thy waves and thy billows have gone 
over me. Yet, the Lord will command his loving 
kindness." 

69 



THE WOOING 

Grace. Now read the other, Mr. Chase. Oh, it is splen- 
did, splendid! 

Chase. [Reading] "A great find! Director of the Sym- 
phony orchestra so speaks of the almost unknown 
Paolo Adremollo, who is to play first violin in the or- 
ganization." 

Bess. Isn't it just too good? 

(MYRIAM and PAOLO, in a mutual action, start toward 
each other; hut pause.) 

Chase. Keep your eloquence a moment; more follows 
here. [Reads] "It will be of interest to the readers of 
the Post to know that the little melody, The Wooing 
of a Violin,' which sprang into such popularity, al- 
most within the week, was written by this young 
Italian. It is said that a lady, daughter of one of our 
most prominent manufacturers, was the inspiration of 
it. This may set the faddists to discussing again, 
'Has art a message ?' " 

(During this reading, PAOLO has modestly retired to the 
hall where he walks slowly back and forth to tranquilize his 
emotions. At the last word, he stands zvithin the archway, 
facin(r audience. GRACE, CHASE and MYRIAM, Right; 
GLENDON, BESS and CLEM, Left. They applaud him, 
and cries of "bravo," "bravo," are given.) 

Paolo. Why do you applaud me? I am but the instru- 
ment into which flowed the harmony of a comple- 
mental life. In Hamlin Square, by the fountain, that 
harmony thrilled my being until love awoke, heard, 
and sang in responsive ecstasy to the wide, wide world 
the song that had birth for but one. That one was 
Myriam. 

70 



OF A VIOLIN 

nOM'JLT'f r.Tj^ MYRIAM. As he does so, GLEN- 
DON speaks to CLEM, and the servant goes back to a small 
wntmg desk zn a corner of the room for writing materials. 
i^ii66 and CHASE take positions behind GLEN DON'S 
chair; while GRACE goes to the harp, and, standing beside it 
picks out the httle love song, softly, with one hand. She 
plays to fall of curtain.) 

Oh, my love, I shall tell you now in phrase that 
never before has crossed my lips — but from my heart 

irradiated a wordless rhapsody — I love you. Tell me 

tell me this — as I have read it in your beautiful eyes 

tell me, "It is not in vain." 

(MYRIAM attempts to reply; but a Hood of feeling pre- 
?f!?^r7f.o ^^^^ ^'^^^^^ ^^^ ^y^^' smiles, lifts her face to 
J^h^zi'r^nf ^^^^'"' ^^^^ ^^^^*- ^f^^^ ^^^ caress, PAOLO 
and MYRIAM, zvith arms around each other, walk back to 
the table where lies the violin which PAOLO has not seen 
since the night it was broken. During this action CLEM 
brings down pen, paper and ink, and GLENDON writes In 
a moment, during which PAOLO and MYRIAM stand with 
their backs to the audience, looking at the instrument 
GLENDON attracts the attention of CHASE.) 

Glen. Love has received its reward, I have said ; but it is 
written, "Unto him that hath shall be given ;" so here 
is a heaping for their measure. 

(He hands writing to CHASE, who reads silently then 
turns swiftly toward PAOLO and MYRIAM, but seeing their 
absorption, goes quietly over to GRACE and BESS.) 

Chase. [Reads] ''I hereby convey to my dear friend, 
Paolo Adremollo, and my daughter, Myriam Glen- 
don, my entire property. I further convey and be- 
stow upon them the most gracious benediction of a 
fond old father, which shall be for them and theirs 
forever. H. V. Glendon." 

71 



THE WOOING 

Glen. Not the usual form for a legal document, perhaps, 
but you two shall witness it, nevertheless. 

Chase. [ ^ . . 
Bess. [Joyously! 

Glen. Sign here. 

(CHASE kneels at the arm of the chair and signs; as he 
rises, PAOLO and MYRIAM turn and face front; MYRIAM 
has the violin in her hands. BESS signs, slowly, and remains 
kneeling.) 

Myr. The Wooing of a Violin. 

[slow curtain] 



72 



'G 2B 1904 



